Numbing the Pain
by JustAnotherTickingTimeBomb
Summary: I'm dying. Slowly but surely. I should care I guess, but the truth is, I don't. My family and friend are gone, and so are my district. I'm alone. I have nothing to live for; so why should I stay? Story following Katniss post-Mockingjay, as she finds her way back, and reunites with Peeta. Will have a slight different turn to the one in the book to add some elements of surprise. r&r
1. Chapter 1

Numbing the Pain 

Death – such a deceiving word. It should hold a definitive end and the promise to finish off your pain and torture, when in truth it offers bags of prosperity and hope; hope that we will be carried to a safer place. A safer place, something not hard to achieve compared to the place I am in now.

I believe that one day I will survive. I will survive the pain bought to me by my sister's death, the loss of my friends and possibly worst of all, the emptiness that fills every inch of me, numbing every inch of my body.

That's the worst part, you know – not being able to feel. If I were able to feel my heart being ripped so viciously and so quickly from my chest, and feel the puppet master squeezing it tight between his round fingers, I might be okay. If I could feel my sister's braids tickling the ends of my noses as they feel loosely from her head as she sat curled up on my lap, safe and protected; I might feel safe. If I could feel my Peter's warm embrace around me whilst she whispered and told me that everything was okay; I might survive.

I never imagined I would die a hero; a figure of hope and promise in the eyes of so many people, just a nobody from district twelve, who would fade away slowly from existence by the age of 34 from some sort of chemical poisoning from nuclear waste in the mines. Everywhere I go, every time I turn on the tv, people are telling me I am their aspiration, their role model. I taught them to be fearless, I showed them strength and I gave them freedom; but I didn't give it to them. I bought it. Everything comes at a price, and everyone I ever loved was mine for Panem's future.

I've never been selfish, I always try to do what's best for others without thinking about the consequence for myself. I volunteered for Prim in the reaping to save her from death (yet still couldn't manage to protect her), I offered my life to the Capitol in exchange for Peeta's, I risked my life every day for five years in order to feed my family; but I guess there was selfish motives behind each one of these. I couldn't bear to watch everyone I love die; Prim killed brutally for the entertainment of a bunch of hypocritical, blazen, oblivious Capitolists, Peeta tortured slowly to death right before my eyes, his smooth, milky throat slit slowly and meaningfully as I watched the light and love drain from his eyes, and my Mother lay on the sofa, a bag of bones as she sits in the numb darkness of her broken eyes. I guess we have more in common that I used to think.

That's a scary thought. Don't get me wrong, I love my Mum. Loved? Love? I don't know whether to use past or present tense. I love her, still, I think, I just no longer admire her, respect her, like her even. She's made me resort to this; weak, empty, meaningless. After Dad died, and me and Prim watched her spiral into a pile of depressive, I promised myself that no matter what happened, I would never resort to that. I would always stay strong for the people around me, never let down the people who rely on me; my Prim. But I guess now she's gone, there's no one left to let down.

I'm on my own now, and there's nothing more I can do but let my tired, broken body succumb to the darkness, dancing mesmerizingly around me, enticing me with their melodic song.

I'm done.


	2. Chapter 2

Numbing the Pain 

The day I decided to pull myself together came in May, about six months after Prim died. I was staring absentmindedly out of my window, like every other day, watching the vibrancy of the Sun crawling over the district, and taking it's place on it's podium of fluffy white clouds, something which always made me shudder as it reminded me of the way Snow had used his peacekeepers to protect him from being pulled down from his podium of power.

Just the thought of Snow, and the way that man could kill so many innocent children and not care. I am haunted everyday by the people I killed and their families, and the nightmares will forever stay with me. The ghosts of Cato, Glimmer, Aura (the girl from district four), Marvel, Gloss, and not to mention those people in the Capitol, who had done nothing wrong but support Snow in order for the families safety, or because they just didn't know any better. In a weird way though, I'm glad they still haunt me, comforting me. They reassure me of the fact that I can still feel something, even if it is deep and heavy pain. Other than that, I am numb, and I don't want to be.

I knew I had to sort my life out when Buttercup came home. The look of disgust and betrayal in his eyes said it all; I was a disappointment, a let down, a useless case. I was supposed to be strong for Prim, she wouldn't want me to be like this. A bitter, numb mess with a very strong scent of BO embracing me every time I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a huge, fulfilling swig. She hated it when people smelt, she said there was no need for it. "Just because we're all poor and can't afford to eat, doesn't mean we can't use water and soap" she always used to moan.

So that's the first thing I did, I took a shower.

The worries and the pain slipped off of me and ran down my body in small spirals with the water, cleansing both my hair and mind. Images of blood oozing from the bodies of our children, the ones I sacrificed everything for to protect, lay around me, with deconstructed bodies and mixed parts of libs splattered across the outside of the President's mansion. I know it will always be with me, I can't pray for miracles, but at least I know it was tarnishing, and would soon be just a faint part of who I will become.

The second thing I did, I cut my hair.

When I sat in front of the mirror, wet hair stuck to my blotchy, a clean fluffy towel wrapped firmly round my body, the most intimacy I'd felt in so long, the first thing I noticed was how much my hair had grown. Even before Prim died, I'd never really bothered with my hair, but it was always healthy and hung safely to my shoulders in my signature braid, and I could always brush the few knots out of it within a couple of minutes. However, as I tried to put the comb through it, despite all my efforts, I could not get it to budge. With a final look in the mirror at the one feature of myself that I actually like, the one that had made me so signature to the whole of Panem in the first place, but at the same time had been my accompiant to so much hurt and torture, I picked up the scissors and cut. There was something so satisfying about the noise which the scissors made each time they closed around new parts of my hair. Eventually, I looked up and stared at my reflection. My hair was now significantly shorter, falling in loose waves in a messy bob to just bellow my earlobes.

The third thing I did was put on some make up.

I never used to like indulging in it, comparing it to simply a Capitol luxury that I didn't need to endorse further, but I guess now that everything is manufactured legally and safely under the leadership of President Paylor it's okay. I didn't apply much, just some cream that matched my olive skin perfectly, and some powder to cover the scar that covers my face from the left cheekbone to the right side of my forehead, hiding all signs of battle.

The penultimate, I go dressed.

I peered into my wardrobe hesitantly, already knowing what to expect. Seven beautifully tear stained wedding dresses, embellished with the finest of child slavery and blood, as well as death. The death of mine and Peeta's love. I blinked hard as to not let a tear mark my foundation, as I hauled these to the side of the wardrobe, promising myself to burn them later. I fell to my knees and pulled open the second of the small drawers which I kept my own clothes in before the second reaping. I pulled out my favourite black jeans, denim being the one luxury I had actually enjoyed after winning the first Games, and a long sleeved, plain white t-shirt, and put them on.

I looked in the mirror at the new me, and for the first time since I can remember, and definitely for the first time since Prim died, I smiled. I could do this. This is me.

I will make you proud.


End file.
